Ok, this isn't my typical post. There will be no giggling allowed. (aloud?) I put a pen to paper and this is what came out. Yeah I know...old school.
So this is life.
Night and Day.
The sun rises then sets and today becomes tomorrow.
The exact moment separating the two is indistinguishable, as time neither starts, nor stops...it simply IS.
A ringing phone and it starts again.
Again with the steel rails and red blocks.
Stones and trees.
The smell of creosote and diesel fuel.
Sounds of screeching wheels and clanging bells. A whistle
wrecking the quiet of the evening.
Xanax and Zoloft.
Ambien, alcohol, and caffeine.
The tools of the trade.
Stand, Sit.
Hurry up and wait.
Rest...but never really rested.
Are we there yet?
How long now?
Whistle off and here we go again.
From One Mother, to Another
9 months ago
5 comments:
Hmm ... this is pretty poignant.
No giggles here, but then - I rather enjoy poetry.
It sure feels similar to this for many of us by times. Well ... minus the creosote and train tracks...
Snaps for Mark.
Thanks Danica, I didnt know if it was going to sound like whining or not. Started out as a regular post but wouldnt come together right... so now I guess it's a po-eeeem.
I really enjoyed this poem Mark. Nicely done. And no giggles from me either.
Nice glimpse into your world. And definitely not whiney.
♥Spot
Hi Mark, thought I'd stop by and say hello. I'm not up to reading full posts yet, but I will get back to this. I promise. Scouts, cubs, guides honour or whatever!
Oh, Mark. You make the life of a pole-dancer sound so glamorous!
Seriously...it really was beautiful. I could smell the diesel and got the feeling it can be tedious, monotonous work.
BTW, I use most of those meds and I'm not in your line of work. I wonder what that means...
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